In a city rammed to the gills with fancy hotels, the Connaught is perhaps the fanciest of them all. It's certainly the most expensive (suites regularly hit a grand a night), the most recently refurbished (it has enjoyed/endured a multi-squillion-pound, year-long makeover), and the most butler-y (a corps of 15 fully trained old-style butlers service the hotel's guests, with a further 10 expected to be hired by next spring). For these and multiple other reasons (expanses of marble floor, stunning ceiling roses, stupendously sweet liveried doormen, the smell of money, the sense that no corner has been cut, anywhere, anyhow), the Connaught is pure, unadulterated luxury. Anna Wintour insists on staying there, any time she's in town. Unsurprisingly, it's got a killer bar. Actually - it's got two killer bars, the Coburg, which is tasteful and discreet and not at all my style, and the Connaught Bar, which is a sparkly, art-deco jewel box of an extravaganza, and therefore very much my style.

Are you even a tiny bit aware that we're mired in the advanced stages of a recession, and that it's contrary to prevailing sensitivities to go boozing in v expensive venues?

I am very aware of the credit crunch as it happens. I've swapped my customary champagne baths for cava ones, and even considered DIY-ing my manicures! (I know!) However, I think that this is precisely the time one needs to indulge in decadent drink-ups - less frequent, higher quality. This sort of thing will make you much jollier, and give you an easier, less moody, hangover, because the alcohol's better.

It scares me when your logic begins to seem sensible.

Just go with it! So, the Connaught Bar's been closed, along with the rest of the hotel, for this lengthy and costly makeover; its reopening coincided almost exactly with the Cocktail Girl's birthday. Clearly it would have been plain rude to celebrate the ebbing away of one's youth anywhere else. So off I popped.

And?

Well my dear, it was immense fun. I secured myself a banquette in the forward section of the bar, so I could check out the barmen as they worked (such vigorous shaking!). I was struck by the waitresses' excellent grey tailored frocks. (I made several attempts to buy one but was told, firmly, that they were a perk of the job and not for general consumption.) I was presented with a cocktail menu, a bowl of the bar's signature caramelised pecans (yum!) and a mini-drink, designed to amuse my bouche while I was choosing my main-course cocktail.

Which was?

A Mayfair Delight, a dryish, cucumber-tinted variant of a champagne cocktail, which was very good indeed. While I was sipping away at it in a most contented fashion, I spotted Santino Cicciari, overlord of the international cocktail-making scene, and creative head of operations at the Connaught Bar. He came over to say hello, and show me his special balls!

Dear God.

Which are made from ice. A special kind of ice, designed to melt very, very slowly, in the interest of not diluting one's drink too quickly. They're a thing of great beauty, let me tell you, are Santino's ice balls. Just when I thought things could not possibly get any ritzier (or should that be: Connaught-ier?) I was served a selection of bar snacks, designed by the hotel's award-winning chef Hélène Darroze; and they were stunningly good. (Squid and chorizo and sun-dried tomato skewer, anyone? Hell, yes!)

So there you go. The Connaught. My new favourite hotel bar and no mistake. It's in its first flush of post-refurb lushness right now, chaps; so do yourselves a favour and go soon. Kisses. CG.